Picking Stars

There’s a path behind the house

behind that house with green shutters

with green eyes of hope that blink with each stroke of pain in the world

a little, hidden path

where the leaves talk

the green leaves speak

in soft and sweet voices

where the grass sways in the summer winds

singing old songs of love

where the man in the moon wakes and smiles

at us.

We didn’t know it was there

that secret, hidden path

but that one night

when the sun had laid its warm breath on the earth

when the earth was breathing, pumping all around

the stars lined up next to our naked feet

that had walked onto this earth at the same time

for the first time

as if it was fate

that had crossed paths so many times

as if He was guiding our steps

that had since walked together

jokingly

but never

with each other.

One look

from your eyes to mine

two hands

holding yours in mine.

Down that winding, narrow path we walked

danced

not knowing where it would lead

balancing on rocks

that had seen the oceans of this breathless ever-changing globe

and become so soft

climbing through the talking leaves

listening to their stories of the tree of life

whispering the beginning of our little flower

that blossomed in that sigh of silver moonlight

of that unknown world

where grass sings

where we are rolling in it

smelling its summer harmonies

whispering the chorus

– we’d heard it before

in the past

way back.

Getting to the end of the path

we arrive at the foot of the hill

the green rolling hill

where we see the tree

so green and free

so we hug it

taking it into our middle

and it bows its twigs down around us

embracing us with the glowing dress

of falling shooting stars.

You take my hand

and we take the leap

our hope rises above the earth

into the sky

majestically

into that summer night sky

where I see the leaves of the tree

talk and glow and rain

their wisdom onto us

that were lost

in those arms

that the universe spreads around souls who are lost

lost in the beautiful colors of life

in which the painter put it all

His all

His all

His all

Before He rested on the seventh day

Before He came to be with us for ever anyway.

As we step out of the shade of the tree of the moonlight of the universe’s sigh

we look back

and see the man in the moon’s face

his smiling lips

shy wave

we look back

briefly

and see that the grass where we had been had bowed to the left and right

it had really happened

and we reach up

and we pick those glowing stars

hold our hands open for the falling, shooting stars

for those bright, countless, magical stars

that showed us the path

to the unknown world

that we’d felt before

but never visited

to the rolling hills

that we’d imagined before

but never rolled in, never smelled before

to the tree of life

that He had planted for us

when we took our first steps in the sand next to Him.

So we pick those stars

so we might never walk

alone

in darkness

ever again.

So we might find our way back

home

too.